


If I Could Turn Back Time

by Spoodlemonkey



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Based on an interview, Established Relationship, Freddie's temper, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, boys being dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: They’re fooling around one moment, passing shots back and forth as they weave through their teammates, when Connor hits a rough patch of ice and his shot goes wide.A split second later Freddie drops to the ice.





	If I Could Turn Back Time

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to GreyMichaela who took time out of her absolutely insane day to read this over for me!!!! Any other mistakes are my own. Not my boys, barely my sandbox!
> 
> Based off the Sportsnet interview with Connor and Freddie where Connor had managed to nail Freddie in the face with a puck during practice. 
> 
> Yeah...I went with Cher for a title. Titles are hardddddd.

He honestly doesn’t mean to.

They’re fooling around one moment, passing shots back and forth as they weave through their teammates, when Connor hits a rough patch of ice and his shot goes wide.

A split second later Freddie drops to the ice. 

Auston freezes, wide eyes flying from Freddie to Connor and back again, before they both spring into motion. Everyone’s gathered around the goalie and it takes a moment for Connor to wriggle through the crowd to drop down next to where his boyfriend is on his ass looking dazed. God—his mask hadn’t been on, he’d still been standing at the boards chatting with Mo, when Connor’s stray puck had caught him. There’s a cut running from his lip down his chin, bleeding freely and Connor raises a shaking hand, gloves long since discarded.

“Freddie?” 

Freddie’s gaze sharpens and his grip is tight, bruising when he grabs Connor’s wrist.

“ _ Don’t _ .” 

Connor recoils and Freddie lets him go, hand coming up to prod tenderly at the cut. His lip is already swelling and at the very least there’s going to be a wicked bruise. Connor feels sick to his stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” he tries again. “It was an accident, I swear.”

“ _ Stop _ ,” Freddie barks and Connor’s mouth snaps shut. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

The trainers are there now and Connor lets them shuffle him out of the way, barely aware of it, swallowed up in a cloud of guilt and shame and hurt. They get Freddie to his feet and head down the tunnel to the locker room. The ice is silent as they leave. Freddie doesn’t look at Connor. 

Babs clears his throat and calls their attention back to him. It was an accident, he tells them, it happens, let's move on. 

Connor wants to throw up. 

“Hey.” Auston bumps their shoulders together. “It was an accident. Freddie will be fine.” 

Connor shrugs, miserable, wishing he could head down that tunnel after Freddie, but knowing his presence isn’t welcome. 

“Give him time to cool off,” Auston continues. “He’ll be back on the ice in no time.” 

Connor nods miserably and lets himself be led into warmups.

 

::

 

Freddie’s back on the ice twenty minutes later, accepting proffered fist bumps as they come, waving off the cheers and chirping as he steps out onto the rink. Connor gets closer, notes with relief that with the blood cleaned up it looks a hell of a lot less gruesome. Babs lets them have their moment, then gets them all moving again and focused on practice.

“You’re just too delicate.” Mitch is chirping him as Connor skates up to them. They’re waiting alongside as Sparks takes to the net, working on drills. Connor winds up next to Freddie, chest feeling hot and tight as he takes in the two neat little stitches. His jaw must be aching from the angle the puck hit him, the skin still looks a vivid red. 

“I’m so sorry Freddie.” It spills out as a jumble of words. “Are you okay? The puck just bounced, I swear it was an accident.”

Freddie doesn’t even glance his way. 

There’s a long pause where Connor is staring up at Freddie and Freddie is staring across the ice. From the corner of his eye he sees Mitch glance between them, then clears his throat, the tension growing heavier in the air with each awkward second. 

“Fred?” Connor tries to keep his voice steady. 

Their goalie isn’t usually the most talkative, but with Connor he’s never outright  _ ignored _ him.

“Well look at that, I think I hear Patty calling me.” Mitch gives Connor a sympathetic glance and takes off across the ice. 

Then it’s just the two of them.

“Is there anything I can do?” Connor asks quietly—and this is Freddie’s cue to smirk at him, make a comment about making it up to him when they get home. “Freddie?”

There’s a muscle jumping in Freddie’s jaw, Connor notices, and then Freddie is skating away from him to Auston and Mo and Naz like Connor isn’t just standing there like the ice has dropped away from under his feet.

 

::   
  


Connor’s not brave enough to corner Freddie again during practice. Freddie manages to keep at least two people between them at all times anyways, hanging out with Auston, cracking a smile at Mitch’s antics. Connor tells himself that doesn’t sting, that Freddie seems to have no trouble accepting Auston’s apology at face value and not his own boyfriend’s. 

They take shots on net and Connor hangs back, keeps his head down until he has no choice but to go. His shot goes wide—way wide, bouncing off into the corner. Freddie doesn’t even have to move. Connor’s cheeks burn and he gets out of the way as the next guy gets set up. The rest of the practice continues on in a similar fashion, a dark cloud growing larger and larger over Connor’s head until they finally trudge down the hall to the locker rooms. 

The guys are pretty upbeat, their game isn’t until the next night, and a free night is rare. A few of them make plans to head out together. He keeps his head down and they don’t invite him, wisely staying away from whatever mood he’s in. He has plans tonight anyway, or at least he  _ had _ plans. Now he’s not sure.

Connor chances a glance over at Freddie but the goalie has stripped down in record time and is back in his street clothes. He’s skipped his shower and his hair is plastered to his forehead, cheeks still ruddy from the ice. He’s breathtaking. Freddie shoulders his bag and is heading to the door when he passes by Connor’s cubby.

“Hey,” Connor calls out, feeling suddenly brave. Freddie hesitates but his gaze never strays to Connor and he doesn’t stop walking. 

This time Connor’s cheeks are burning from a mixture of humiliation and anger as he rips off the last of his gear and makes a beeline for the showers. The voices in the room have dropped to a whisper and he  _ knows _ what everyone is talking about. He and Freddie aren’t exactly a secret, no one can keep a secret like this on a hockey team. The teams been more than accepting, but he isn’t prepared to be anyones gossip. 

He cranks the water as hot as he can stand it and thinks about just staying under the heavy stream forever. 

Eventually he makes it back out into the room. It’s mostly empty, the others have cleared out eager to enjoy the rest of their day. He’s thinking vaguely about a nap, trying to decide if maybe he can get Freddie to text him instead if he won’t talk to him in person. 

Auston, strangely enough, is still seated in his cubbie when Connor comes back out.

“Hey.” He’s tapping away on his phone but glances up at Connor’s reappearance. “Mitchy and I are getting sushi. You in?” 

Connor tugs on his boxers and jeans. 

“I was thinking about just having a nap.” He gets the rest of his clothes on quickly, mainly so he doesn’t have to look Auston in the eye- he knows he’s easy to read. “I’m beat.”

“An hour.” Auston pushes to his feet and heads for the door. “Mitchy already has the place picked out. Come on man, it’ll be fun.” 

Connor doesn’t doubt it  _ could _ be fun—but they don’t need him third wheeling and moping around. 

“You don’t want to let Mitch down right?” Auston throws out before Connor can decline again. His mouth snaps shut. “He’s so pumped for this place, claims I don’t understand what proper sushi is. I need you as back up, man.”

Connor feels himself caving. 

“Just an hour.” Auston grins, sensing his crumbling resolve. He tosses his arm around Connor’s shoulders and leads him out the door. “And then we’ll drop you at your place and you can sleep all you want.” 

The thought of his apartment, of how empty it will be, how silent, makes his stomach twist. His fridge is probably still empty from the last time he’d stopped by to pick up some clothes. 

An afternoon out is starting to sound better.

 

::

 

They end up at some high scale sushi restaurant downtown, watching as the different choices ride by them on plates on a little conveyor belt. Connor admits he’s charmed by it, tries about a million new dishes and discovers he hates only a few of them.

Auston makes faces as Mitch basically inhales what’s in front of him, chewing obnoxiously to get a rise out of him. Outside it’s chilly, but indoors the sun warms them through the wide glass windows and the quiet chatter of the lunch crowd sets a relaxing atmosphere. 

“We need a cheat day,” Auston groans when Mitch and Connor have happily eaten their fill. There’s a piece Connor hasn’t tried yet that kind of looks like it has squid in it, that keeps going by and he’s trying to decide if he still has space for it or if he’s going to explode with one more bite.

“We had one last week when you were craving Italian.” Mitch pats him on the shoulder, fond smile in place.

“Oh yeah.” Auston sighs happily at the memory. “I feel another cheat day coming up.” 

Mitch catches Connor’s gaze, rolling his eyes with a grin. He’s being invited into this moment, he knows, is honored they’re willing to share this with him, but it still leaves something aching in his chest.

He begs off Fortnite, citing Auston’s insane competitiveness as the reason and has them drop him back at his apartment. 

It’s dark when he gets in, gloomy, the air feeling stale. He pauses by the door and has to stop himself from turning right back around and going—who knows where. To Freddie’s? 

He’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want anything to do with Connor right now.

Fine. He’ll give him his space.

Connor throws open his curtains in what he feels is a justifiably dramatic flair and lets the late afternoon light in. He moves room to room, grabbing up laundry he never got around to doing, clearing off the worst of the dust from his shelves and counters and electronics. 

His fridge isn’t as empty as he’d thought but it may be actually  _ alive _ at this point, so he cleans that out, tossing out the weeks old takeout from the last time they’d spent the night at his place. 

By the time he’s done, the sun has set and he’s worn himself out, but he’s actually made the place habitable. Pleased, he changes into a pair of worn flannel pajama bottoms and a grey Leafs shirt two sizes too big and stretched by Freddie’s enormous shoulders. He grabs a blanket, curling up in a comfortable cocoon on the couch, turning on Netflix as he reaches for his phone. It’s dead, he realizes with a start, probably from the videos he’d been watching before practice. And his charger is at Freddie’s. He groans, dropping his phone on the coffee table. He’s got an actual alarm clock to wake him up in the morning thankfully and he’ll just have to grab another charger from the convenience store down the street before he heads in to meet the guys. 

In the meantime there’s nothing he can do about it, unwilling to get up and find the nearest Walmart of Shoppers. He settles back into the couch and gets Hinterland cued up, deciding it’s for the best. If his phone is dead, then he can’t spam Freddie till he talks to him and piss him off even more.

 

::

 

It’s a knocking on his door that wakes him up. 

At first he doesn’t recognize the sound, blinking groggily up at the ceiling, a crick in his neck. The ceiling resolves itself into the living room and after a moment he realizes the crick in his neck is from falling asleep on the couch. The television is still on, but he can’t place the plot or the episode. Connor reaches for his phone, remembering belatedly that the battery is dead when nothing happens.

The knocking starts up again.

He hauls himself to his feet, rubbing idly at his eyes. A glance at the microwave tells him it’s just past one as he heads for the door. Who the hell is visiting him at one in the morning?

He’s working himself up for some righteous anger if it’s one of the boys, drunk and demanding attention again when he throws the door open. All the air leaves him in one long rush.

“Can I come in?” Freddie asks quietly. He holds Connor’s gaze, the first time today, and it hits Connor like a bullet how relieved he is by it. That’s not the reason Connor steps back to let him in though, it’s what he sees there. 

He leads Freddie through to the living room, like he hasn’t been there a million times. They don’t sit. They just hover there awkwardly like two strangers, new to this, unsure of what to say. 

“You didn’t answer your phone. Or texts.”

“It’s dead.” Connor gestures to where he’s tossed it on the low table and lets the silence settle.

Connor’s said his piece though, knows he fucked up, hates himself for it a little bit. Now he wants to hear what Freddie has to say.

“I’m sorry.” 

Connor nods, arms coming up to wrap around himself. He wishes he had pockets, wishes he had something to do with his hands. He feels awkward in his own skin, ready to just  _ flee _ as he waits for Freddie to...what? Break up with him? Yeah, maybe. 

“You know about my...temper.” Freddie makes a face, like the word is bitter on his tongue. It probably is with how far he’s had to come to push past it. “And when I get hurt in front of people, it’s hard to control it. I just. I  _ can’t _ let people see me hurt.” Freddie runs a hand through his hair, tugs at it, and Connor finally takes note of the way Freddie’s hair is on end like he’s been pulling on it all day. “Especially people I love.”

Connor’s breath catches. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away,” Freddie says softly, earnestly and Connor hugs himself tighter to stop from crossing the distance between them and into his arms. 

“You were  _ such _ a dick today,” Connor grits out, hates how he can’t keep his voice even. It feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest, cheeks hot, eyes stinging. It’s been a  _ long _ emotional day, he doesn’t know how much more he can take. 

“I know, I’m so sorry baby.” Freddie takes a step forwards, expression pleading. 

Connor folds.

It feels too good when Freddie wraps him up in his strong arms, pulling him close. Connor tucks his face against Freddie’s neck, presses his lips to his pulse and tries to catch his breath. It feels like he’s been bag skating for ages, like he’s been running a marathon and only now can finally rest.

“If you ever pull that again,” he threatens, trails off because he has no idea what to say. There’s no universe where Connor won’t forgive Freddie when he deserves to be forgiven. 

“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” Freddie presses kisses to his hair, his temple, his cheek, chasing further and further until he catches Connor’s lips with his own. 

Freddie lets out a little noise when they push too hard, pressing against his stitches and the bruise and Connor pulls back, their foreheads still pressed together.

“For the record,” his lips brush Freddie’s as he speaks, distractingly good. “That was the worst confession I’ve ever heard.”

Freddie laughs, tightening his hold on Connor.

“Heard a lot of them?” 

Connor shrugs, toying with the short hair at the nape of Freddie’s neck.

“Say it again?” He aims for casual and misses it by a mile but Freddie just smiles, fond and warm.

“I love you.” 

 

::

 

“Yeah,” Connor tells the Sportsnet reporter the next night with a rueful grin. “He wasn’t talking to me all yesterday. I sat beside him at lunch, though, and he forgave me.”

Freddie catches his eye across the locker room and gives him a beautiful smile meant only for him. 


End file.
